Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Saturday Night’s All Right For Kung Fu Fighting

After following disco down the rabbit hole, the Dead became infatuated with kung fu movies, and began production immediately on a film project that–against the very laws of nature–produced a negative amount of footage. Not only did they not shoot anything usable for themselves, but Garcia burned down a local movie theater the night before they began; it was a net loss, basically.

Garcia was being played by Sammo Hung. Or he was playing Sammo Hung–a lot of ideas hadn’t been finalized or written down or were any good in the first place. But Sammo was the only fat Asian guy they knew besides Buddha, who was a coke dealer from the Tenderloin.

Keith was really looking forward to the movie, as it would give him a chance to showcase his kung fu. The fact that the strictest definition of kung fu that Keith was capable of articulating was “That Jap shit all the black guys like. It’s far out,” really didn’t factor into Keith’s belief in his own chi and under the tutelage of his Shifu–who was the lump of soiled bed sheets in the corner Keith mistook for a person damn near every night–Keith had invented his own style: Sleepy Possum.

Keith would prepare for the match by ingesting depressing levels of depressants and by the time his opponent got there, Sleepy Possum was in full swing. The rival would gingerly approach Keith, looking around to make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap. They would usually call out, “Hello? Are you all right?” And stand directly over him, maybe a little nudge, tap with the foot.

And then Keith would punch the guy in the dick because it wasn’t Keith: it was Billy employing his Dickpunching Chameoleon stlye! (To be honest, Billy had been disguising himself and/or hiding in order to gain more direct access to his lover, the Cosmic Embodiment of Chaos, Madame Chao herself, who could only be wooed by the sound of a million souls crying out in terror, and Billy, being a canny woo-er of women both Metaphysical and Drunk, was playing this one slowly. That craven climber Tarkin blew up that backwater to impress her, and Madame Chao twirled around the dance floor with him, before slinking away in the middle of the night and leaving that thermal port hatch unlocked. Not Billy’s style: one-by-one, so she would always think about him. And Chaos was always on Billy’s mind, too.)

What was I talking about?

I have quite literally no idea.

Right: Billy becoming a master of disguise in order to more ably punch the dicks he needed to punch.

It’s weird that I understood that sentence.

It was just a trend that Billy was riding out of boredom and laziness. If everyone was going to be into kung fu, then Billy would let them think the dickpunching and disguises were some gay ninjitsu shit or whatever. Later on, in the 80’s, Billy would insist–to the point of violence–that the club they were referring to on his jacket when it declared him a member was the dickpuncher’s club, and he wanted to be in good standing. It’s Billy, what do you want: acceptable human behavior?

Mickey, as would be expected took it from goofy appreciation straight into cultural appropriation. FOR THE FIRST TIME, TotD can reveal that the true reason for the lack of Summer ’77 shows was not that Mickey had broken his arm in a drunken car accident, but that he had decamped to the Shaolin temples, which he though were in Japan. Through a series of escalating incidents in the executive lounges along his connecting flights, Mickey was sold in sex slavery. To be technical, which is what the embassy was in a very rude manner, Mickey might have sold himself into sex slavery. Who you want to believe, a warehouse full of evidence and court documents, or me?

Mickey was trying to learn how to look cool while simultaneously kicking people and wearing pajamas. This is the essence of the Martial Arts, and that’s what Mickey was going for before three shows a night in Bangkok shooting ping-pong balls out of his shoulder-vagina. (mickey has a shoulder-Vagina: look it up.)

Phil showed up the first day of shooting five hours late and surly. He asked for the script, was told there wasn’t one, set his empty down and left.

1 Comment

  1. I bow before you Master.

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